Scooby Who?
by Qihotex
Summary: Buffy's first thought? Someone got lost on the way to Sesame Street. Her second thought was unspeakable in polite society.
1. Today's Color is Orange

**Disclaimer:** This is a derivative work. All BtVS characters belong to or were created by Joss Whedon, and Mutant Enemy. Warner Bros. now owns all things Scooby. Not sure who owns Stargate at this point.  
**Spoilers:** Buffy seasons 1 thru The Wishverse. Stargate - concepts. Scooby - the movies.  
**Summary:** In a very AU Wishverse, Buffy encounters a Chappa'ai and a friend of Scooby Doo.  
**Pairing:** None to start with.  
**Author's Notes:** This is **very** AU for the three fandoms involved. How AU will be revealed as the story progresses. I'm not really sure how this will turn out. Or when.  
**Special Thanks:** To **shanejayell** for permission to use/reference Arisugawa's Locket in this story.  
**Word count:** 2,333 (1 of 10)

* * *

Glaring at the back of the Watcher's head, Buffy counted backwards from one hundred in Russian. Twice. It didn't help. Much. She could still feel her anger simmering just below the surface. Clenching her hands tightly, she started breathing slowly and deeply while trying to think of something else. Like her plans to finally visit that club the next time she saw it.

She'd seen it several times while traveling on Council business, but she'd never been brave enough to do more than nod at whomever was guarding the door that night. There was something special about it, not just the original name, Arisugawa's Locket. She wasn't sure how they managed it but she suspected it was the same club, even though she'd been in a different city each time, but nothing demonic registered with her slayer senses so she'd never mentioned it to anyone at the Council. It was a mystery of her own that she planned to solve some day.

Buffy shook her head. It was bad enough that she was out in the middle of nowhere wearing a dress supplied by the busybodies in Quentin Travers' office. In some putrid shade of purple no less. With a purse to match the high heeled boots that only her over developed sense of balance enabled her to walk in. She suspected someone in his office had been watching too many Avenger episodes. Emma Peel she was not.

No, it wasn't just the location or outfit that was having her give serious thought to the idea of throwing something heavy at the Watcher. On an apparent whim, he'd shown up at her hotel and had proceeded to rearrange her evening, in the process making her future much more difficult.

She normally avoided State dinners and other Council diplomatic functions but Quentin Travers had insisted that she represent Her Majesty's DMN Groupe Seven at the opening reception for the annual DMN sponsored strategy meetings between the NSA, MI6, the DGSE, and SVR at the British Embassy in Washington. Not being in the middle of an apocalypse she'd been unable to refuse. He certainly wouldn't be happy if she wasn't there for him to show off.

Most of the people at the reception might not know that Groupe Seven was actually just a front for the Council of Watchers, but they would recognize her as one of Groupe Seven's top agents. As much as it galled Travers, her presence added a much needed air of legitimacy to the proceedings whenever she attended.

When she was younger she would have suspected making her attend the reception to be some form of punishment but she'd learned over the years that Travers wasn't that subtle. If Quentin asked her to attend some social function, he usually had a good reason. Although he was constantly testing her compliance to Council orders, his idea of punishment was to send her off on an almost guaranteed suicide mission. He seemed to find some perverse pleasure in her reactions to almost impossible tasks. She'd managed to survive so far, the first slayer in centuries to last so long, but eventually he would send her on a mission she wouldn't return from.

And now the Watcher had decided that some prophecy he'd dug up out of some musty old book was more important than the plans of the Head of the Council. And the most likely result would be an annoyed Travers assigning him as her Watcher as punishment. For him, not her. While being the Watcher to the current slayer had once been considered an honor, Buffy was well aware of the affect her reputation as the Black Widow Slayer had on possible Watcher candidates.

Buffy remembered them all but some stuck with her more than others. Her first Watcher, Merrick, had been the first to die while under her protection. He was also the one she regretted the most. He'd been brusk and overbearing but he'd cared, unlike the one in Cleveland who'd sent her off to the Sunnydale Hellmouth unprepared for the scope of the infestation she'd found there. That a bad dose of karma had caught up with him while she was in Sunnydale had been only marginally satisfying.

She'd averaged a Watcher a year in her first decade as the Slayer. Very few of them had died but that had been more luck on their part than anything they'd intentionally done. None of them had escaped intact. Those who didn't die spent months in hospital recovering. On her more paranoid days she suspected it was a curse, but there wasn't any way to prove it.

When it started looking like someone in the Council had noticed and was assigning Watchers to her as a way of purging some of the more incompetent or difficult Watchers from their ranks, she'd put a stop to it by refusing to accept anyone else in that capacity. She just wished she'd become aware of it a lot sooner. Ethan Rayne hadn't been a particularly ethical Watcher but he certainly hadn't deserved to die like that.

She hadn't been any more suicidal than normal when she'd gone up against the Master, but she hadn't really expected to survive. Some days she was even grateful to the Watcher. If he hadn't cast that illusion spell, when she'd confronted the Master her death would have been real. As it was, she'd spent over a month in a Council hospital ward after his White Hats dragged her out of the Master's lair. But she didn't want him becoming the next victim of her curse. Even if in the years since Sunnydale he'd managed to drag her into more than one situation they'd both been barely lucky to survive.

Attending events such as the reception she was close to missing, and becoming a more visible presence in the Council, were part of the price she paid for the autonomy to refuse being assigned a Watcher. Sure, as she moved from place to place on Council orders, she'd had to learn a lot of the things on her own that a watcher was supposed to teach her or do for her. But it was worth it even if there were some things beyond her ability to understand. Like this thing.

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at the large grey metallic ring, the rough growl of her voice a permanent reminder of her encounter with the Master. The Council doctors continued to claim her voice would eventually recover, but she'd given up hope that it would be any time before her death. As smart as the Council doctors were supposed to be, most slayers rarely survived long enough to give them any idea how slayer healing truly worked. She was lucky to be able to speak at all after the damage the Master had done to her throat when he'd failed to snap her neck.

"I believe it's a 'Chappa'ai'," he told her. "There are references to it in copies of several early Council manuscripts. It's reputed to be a portal to a demon dimension."

"What's it doing here?" She gestured towards the door of the large crate filled warehouse where a trio of military guards watched them suspiciously. "Shouldn't it be in a Council vault somewhere?"

"Spoils of war," he said, stepping closer and gazing intently at it. "It was discovered on the Giza plateau in 1928 by a DMN funded researcher. Rommel took it back with him to Berlin. The Americans claimed it and brought it here after the war."

"Why are we here now?" she asked impatiently, looking at her watch, hoping the blatant hint would speed him up so she could get to the reception before it ended.

"We have been asking the Americans to return it for over sixty years. They recognize our claim but seem to prefer that it remain here. Travers wants to know if it has any real value or should be in a museum," he told her, running his fingers along one of the inscriptions on its inner edge.

"So it's a bargaining chips in one of his petty power games," Buffy muttered.

"Quite," he said.

"And you told him you'd check it out? I thought you avoided getting involved in his little power trips?" Buffy asked, remembering more than one occasion where he'd managed to disappear seconds before Travers arrived.

"There's a prophecy," he said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them.

"A good one?" She sighed at the look he gave her. "It doesn't hurt to be positive," she told him. "What's it say?"

"I haven't finished translating it yet," he told her. "It's in an odd combination of several old human languages."

"But it mentions this thing," she said reaching out a hand. The ring seemed to vibrate under her fingers.

"Yes." He pulled out a small magnifying glass and started examining the symbols etched into its surface.

"What else do we know about it?" There had to be more to it than that to justify dragging her out here, she thought.

"There's an old story," he said absently as he examined it. "A slayer discovers her gods are really snake demons and chases them through a large stone ring. She called the ring a 'Chappa'ai'. The Council's official position is that it's just another myth."

"And you think this is that ring?" Buffy asked. "What's the rush?"

"There are rumors that the Russians discovered a similar ring in Siberia last year. The American military has been studying this off and on for the last two decades but they've finally decided to take it seriously. A truck is picking it up tomorrow and taking it to a more secure facility."

"Why do you need me for this?" she asked. "I don't know anything about centuries old circular objects that you can't kill people with."

He shrugged noncommittally. "Just a feeling. And it's much older than that. It's at least as old as the pyramids."

Sighing, Buffy grabbed a chair and placed it off to the side. She'd learned years ago, during the first post-Sunnydale trip he'd dragged her along on, that his feelings shouldn't be dismissed. Slipping off her boots, and sitting as carefully as she could to avoid rumpling her dress, Buffy watched as he methodically took impressions of all of the symbols he could reach.

"Wouldn't a picture work just as well?" she asked, hoping to speed him up.

"No," he bluntly told her.

* * *

She felt it first. The air around the ring started to glow and the ground began to vibrate. "What'd you do?" she asked, quickly pulling on her boots and getting out of her chair. A low background hum joined it as part of the ring started to move.

"Do? Nothing," he mumbled, turning to look at her.

Looking over his should at the ring, Buffy frowned. The air was starting to sparkle. She reacted without thinking. It took her three steps and two seconds to reach him. Still moving, she wrapped an arm around his waist and launched them off to the side, away from the ring. As they flew through the air, in a leap worth of an Olympic athlete, Buffy twisted so that she took most of the force of the landing herself.

She lay there for a minute, the Watcher's breathing loud in her ears, the distinctive smell of tweed overpowering. Releasing her grip, she rolled away from him and sat up. She was going to have a wonderful collection of bruises in the morning, she thought. Hearing rapid footsteps, she looked up and saw the guards cautiously approach.

"A little warning would have been helpful," the Watcher said, groaning as he stood up. Offering her a hand, he pulled her to her feet.

"No time," Buffy told him, staring at the ring. It stared back at them like a huge eye, the blue center rippling like a pond in a light breeze. The crisp smell of ozone was overpowering. "Did you see what happened?"

"I was too busy being tackled," he grumbled. "Did any of you see anything?" he asked, looking at the guards staring warily at the ring.

"There was a flash of light," the closest one volunteered in a low voice. "And steam shot out right were you were standing."

Buffy watched the ring, only peripherally aware of the others. A dead mythical portal to a demon dimension was one thing. An obviously active portal was another. She suspected anything coming through the portal was her responsibility. It was bound to be in her job description somewhere.

She wasn't defenseless. A slayer never travelled unarmed. But the thin stake stuck in her hair like a pin, and the small knives hidden in her boots wouldn't do much good if a large demon came through the portal. Even the pistols the guards carried wouldn't stop anything bigger than a rabid hamster. She just hoped one of them had called for help before rushing over. And wished that she'd paid more attention to her instincts earlier and brought something large and pointy.

And then something orange stepped through the portal. A short, gaunt faced woman dressed like something out of a kiddie cartoon in a short, dark orange skirt, ragged orange knee socks, and an orange sweater. If this was a demon, it had gotten lost on the way to Sesame Street, was her first thought.

Large brown eyes behind large square glasses looked wildly around for a few seconds before locking on her own. They seemed to stare straight into her soul.

"Daphne? You came for me?" the woman asked, before her eyes slowly scanned her surroundings. "This isn't my lab," she said, almost too low to hear.

Before Buffy could respond, the woman's eyes rolled back and she fainted. Just barely managing to grab her before her head hit the cement floor, but too late to save her glasses, Buffy looked over at the Watcher and asked "Who the hell is Daphne?"

* * *


	2. What We Once Were

**Word count:** 2,792 (2 of 10)

* * *

Buffy paced outside the hospital room, occasionally looking in at the unconscious woman on the bed. It had been a long night, even for her, but she couldn't stop moving. The hospital was just too quiet. She felt compelled to make noise. Even a cemetery was never this quiet.

Scenes from earlier kept running through her head. Of the ambulance taking the woman away, along with the Watcher and one of the guards. Making sure that the remaining guards understood the importance of sealing the warehouse until it could be properly investigated. The protesting guards as she turned it over to her contact in the NSA.

A lot had happened in a short amount of time. After taking care of the warehouse, she'd rushed back to her hotel to change out of the ruined dress and into her only business suit.

Catching Travers at the reception, she'd ignored his glowering face, explaining her lateness due to the earlier excitement surrounding the Chappy ring, once he'd calmed down enough to actually listen.

Buffy was used to being the most powerful person in the room, even if no one else knew it, but for twenty minutes that evening she'd gotten a demonstration of the true power of the Council. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or curse at the results. The U.S. government would keep the ancient ring for now. But the Council, through Groupe Seven, would provide oversight of the team examining it.

And Buffy was now responsible for the woman who'd come through it. Basically a glorified babysitter for the currently unconscious woman.

She was impressed with the efficiency of the government for once. The hospital they'd whisked the woman off to, in a secret facility run by the NSA, was buried deep in the Virginia countryside. The doctors there had quickly concluded that she was completely human, dashing Buffy's hope that she could get rid of her easily.

On top of that, there were some questions about the woman's identity. She'd been carrying a NASA ID but there was no record of a Velma Dinkley ever working for them. In any capacity. According to the government she shouldn't exist.

There were no records of her anywhere. Fingerprints or DNA. With all of the power they wielded, the only thing the NSA had come up with was a character in a script for the pilot for some cartoon about a dog from the late 60's that had never been produced. The other organizations the Council had contacts with had returned the same results.

In the middle of a reorganization caused by several well publicized scandals, the NSA was only too happy to let Groupe Seven take responsibility for her. Not that she had any idea herself, Buffy thought, entering the room. What was she supposed to do with her? Her life didn't allow her to have pets; how was she going to deal with a grown woman? Shorter than Buffy, she looked like she hadn't had a good meal in months.

"Daphne?" a soft voice murmured, drawing her to the woman's bedside. "What happened to your beautiful face?" she asked, after staring groggily at Buffy for a minute.

Buffy shivered when the woman reached up and gently traced the scar on her lips in an oddly intimate gesture.

"And you've changed your hair color. I didn't think I'd been gone that long. Where are my glasses?" she asked.

"Where were you?" Buffy asked, not correcting her mistaken identity, hoping to keep her from realizing that she wasn't this Daphne person for a little while longer.

"And your voice..." Velma frowned at her for a moment, like she knew something was wrong but couldn't quite pinpoint it, before answering. "I'm not sure. It was an abandoned underwater city. I almost starved before I figured out how to use the food machines. The plants in the gardens weren't very edible." She held up a thin, bony hand. "A strange place. Way ahead of anything I've seen before."

"How'd you get there?" Buffy asked, sitting down.

"I was testing something in my lab; Can't remember what," she said. "There was a large explosion and I woke up in that city. How did you find me?"

"We didn't. You came through the ring," Buffy said.

"The what?" Velma closed her eyes. "I don't remember. I just wanted to go home. I promised Shaggy I would come home for Scooby's birthday. You were going to be there..." She drifted off before finishing the thought.

Buffy sat quietly for the next hour, watching her. She wondered again who Daphne was, that Velma had thought of her first. And what the strange tone in her voice had meant.

"Buffy?"

"Yes?" Buffy looked towards the door. Rupert Giles was standing just outside it, motioning for her to join him.

Looking back at Velma to make sure she was still sleeping, Buffy stood up and quietly left the room.

"What's up?" she asked, leaning against the wall next to the door. The Watcher looked his usual impeccable self. It wasn't a watcher thing, she'd decided, but a Giles thing, though he'd never really talked about his family in all the years they'd known each other.

"Has she said anything?" he asked eagerly.

"Not much. She mentioned that Daphne person again and a Shaggy and Scooby. She thought she was in some underwater city," Buffy told him. "She remembers an explosion before waking up in the city, but can't remember what caused it or how she ended up going through your Chappy ring."

"Chappa'ai," he automatically corrected. "Nothing else?"

"She thinks I'm that Daphne," Buffy shrugged. "She won't think that when she gets her glasses back. Oh yeah, she's apparently late for a birthday party. Very late."

"What do you think of her?" he asked. "Is she telling the truth?"

Buffy shrugged again. "Can't really tell yet. She doesn't give off any evil vibes. She's been unconscious or asleep most of the time."

"You'll have to bring her with you when she's recovered."

"It might be a week or longer," Buffy warned him. "The doctors aren't saying. And why am I taking her anywhere?"

"The U.S. military has an Air Force facility in Colorado they're going to let us use to study the Chappa'ai. It's in a mountain."

"And we have to go there why?"

"She came out of the Chappa'ai. If she remembers anything, they want her available so they can question her."

"At least she's human, so they won't do any experiments on her," Buffy said, thinking of the rumored Initiative fiasco.

"You can thank Travers for that," Rupert told her with a frown. "He can be a right ponce at times but he knows you'll protect her or deal with her if something needs to be done."

"Great. I wondered why he made me her babysitter. There wasn't some Council safe-house he could send her to?" she grumbled.

"I'll let you know when we're set up in Colorado," he said, before nodding at the ever present guard further down the hall.

"Okay. Not going anywhere for a while," Buffy said. "Don't get into any trouble before I get there."

Rupert nodded and squeezed her shoulder before leaving her alone in the hall. Shaking her head, Buffy walked back in the room and returned to watching her charge.

* * *

"You're not Daphne, are you," Velma asked, her soft voice waking Buffy from a light nap.

"No," Buffy admitted.

"But you look so much like her," Velma protested. "Where are my glasses?"

"You broke them," Buffy said. "The optometrist is on vacation so they had to send them out to be fixed. You should get them back some time this afternoon."

"Oh... Where am I?"

"In a government hospital in Virginia."

"How long have I been here?"

"Almost a week," Buffy told her, condensing long boring days of watching the other woman sleep into a single sentence.

"The underwater city... it wasn't a dream," Velma muttered.

"We don't know. You're the only person to see it," Buffy told her.

"Can I call my friends?"

Buffy thought for a moment and then nodded, pulling out her Council phone. "Use mine, it's more secure."

Velma raised an eyebrow at the comment. Taking the phone she entered a number. Buffy could hear the automated operator telling her the number didn't exist. She watched Velma repeat the process twice more.

"The numbers aren't any good," she said, laying back in her bed. "Why?"

Fascinated, Buffy watched the expressions on her face change as she thought and decided to give her a little more information. "You had a NASA ID when we found you."

"Yes. I work in the Future Propulsion Lab," Velma told her.

"Which means what?" Buffy asked curiously.

"I'm a rocket scientist," Velma said, blushing in obvious embarrassment.

"Oh. So you do sciencie things with rockets?"

"You could say that," she said.

"Well, not at our NASA," Buffy said.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem to exist."

"I'm right here," Velma protested.

"No paper trail," Buffy explained. "Rockets, or any science really, aren't my thing but even I know you can't just walk in off the street and work at some place like NASA. And as far as anyone can tell, you don't exist."

"Jinkies," Velma muttered. "Not even fingerprints or DNA?"

"Fingerprints?" Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Started a detective agency in high school," Velma explained. "To get licensed they had to take our fingerprints. I'm sure they're still on file somewhere."

"Isn't high school a little young for something like that?" Buffy asked. Teenage detective was worlds away from being a slayer. Slayers were expected to be young.

"It was perfectly legal," Velma said. "Daphne's father took care of everything."

"If you say so," Buffy said, nodding at her.

"It can't be time travel," Velma said. "Unless I went back to before I was born? What year is it?"

"It's 2006," Buffy told her, amazed at how calmly she was taking it.

"Not time travel then," she said sadly. "It was 2006 for me too."

Buffy wondered at her obvious disappointment. "You fell through this huge ring thing called a Chappa'ai. There are ancient stories that claim it's a doorway to other places."

"A portal?" Velma struggled to sit up. "Where is it?"

"On its way to a secret military base," Buffy told her.

"We need to stop it!" Velma said, swinging her feet over the side of her bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To find this portal before something happens to it."

"You aren't going anywhere," Buffy told her, gently pushing her back down on the bed. "What's the rush?"

"I need to look at it before it disappears," Velma said, yawning.

"You can barely keep your eyes open," Buffy told her. "You're in no shape to be running around."

"But.."

"I know where it's going," Buffy said. "I'll take you to see it when the doctors say you can travel."

"Why are you helping me?" Velma asked, giving Buffy a confused glanced before her eyes closed.

"Just doing my job," Buffy murmured.

"And what's your job?"

"Officially? In all that paperwork you don't have? I'm a field agent for DMN Groupe Seven," Buffy said with the straight face she'd been practicing for the reception she hadn't gone to. Even though she hadn't learned about the Council's pseudonym until she'd gone permanently watcherless, she still found the whole idea amusing. Especially the acronym.

"What's a DMN?" Velma asked, reopening her eyes.

"We're part of Her Majesty's Household," Buffy said. "We do special projects."

"You don't sound British," Velma said. "Or even Canadian."

"It's not a job requirement," Buffy said. "You should get some sleep. We can talk later."

"Okay..." Velma mumbled before turning her head away from Buffy.

* * *

"Why am I here!" A tall, blonde woman asked, bursting into General Hammond's office, interrupting their conversation.

"Captain." The general fixed her with a steely glare. "You're out of uniform."

"I was at the track," she said, returning his glare, "when some government flunky hands me recall papers. Right before a race."

Rupert winced at her tone. It was like hearing Buffy tear into that poor Council messenger on their Norway trip.

"Project Giza has been reactivated," the general told her.

"Why now?" she asked.

"I'll come back later," Rupert said, getting to his feet.

"Who are you?" she asked, focusing on the new target.

"Dr. Giles is on temporary loan from DMN's Groupe Seven."

"What do they have to do with this project?" she asked suspiciously.

"DMN funded the original expedition that discovered the ring," he said. "They've agreed to provide oversight for the next phase of the project."

"We didn't need them before," she said. "Why are they involved now?"

"It's not your concern, Captain Carter."

"I won't work with them," she said.

"You have no choice," the General said.

"Do you know who they are?" Carter asked. "What they do?"

"The DMN is well respected within the intelligence community," he said. "They've provided vital information and support in the past to their government and our own. You will work with them."

"Yes, sir," Carter said.

"Report to my office tomorrow, in proper uniform. We'll discuss your position with the Project then."

Carter stared at the General for a moment before nodding and giving him a brief salute. Glancing disdainfully at Rupert she turned around and left the room.

"She doesn't seem happy to see that her project has been revived," Rupert murmured. "I'm surprised."

"She was career Air Force until the Pentagon shut down Project Giza." General Hammond said. "I warned your superiors that not everyone they requested for this project would be happy with the invitation."

"I suspect there's more to it than that," Rupert told him. "I should be going."

* * *

She was waiting for him just outside the entrance. Rupert looked at her warily. The General had accepted his presence with few reservations. With the blessing of the Crown, the Council had carefully cultivated a reputation for their activities using the DMN designation within the intelligence community. But very few knew the whole truth about their relationship with the British Monarchy.

Dr. Carter, unfortunately, was one of the few outside the Council and Royal family who knew that DMN was more than a Crown liaison with the British intelligence services. It'd been a calculated risk on the part of the Council Board to request that she participate in the new investigation into the Chappa'ai.

"You're not a Watcher are you?" she asked quietly, joining him as he headed to his car.

"Strictly speaking, Dr. Carter, yes I am. We all are," he told her. "Am I The Watcher? No. I'm just a simple researcher."

"So 'She' won't be a part of this?" she asked.

"Dr. Carter, you are well aware of how it works," he told her gently, glad that he'd had a chance to look through her Council file the day before so he knew who she was referring to. "She's been dead for almost fifteen years."

"I still keep expecting to have her show up at my door," she said, staring off across the parking lot. "with her usual unbelievable story about where she'd been since I last saw her. She seemed so indestructible."

"They all do," he said. "It's all part of the curse. But they live a brutally short life."

"Some would call it a gift," she said. "Perfect health, impossible strength. Abilities science can't even begin to explain."

"For some it is," he said. "But only because they don't know any better," he added, thinking about Buffy Summers and the price she'd paid over the years.

"Why does the Council really want me to be a part of this?" she asked, turning back to look at him. "They know how I feel about them."

"We didn't pick the staff for this project," he said.

"Bull!" she said loudly enough to earn them a quick glance from a nearby guard.

"We might have influenced the selection towards people who would have a better understanding of our position in this matter than most, but it was all based on merit," Rupert told her. He could feel her eyes drilling into him.

"And?"

"I can't speak about any future plans the Council might have," he said, opening the car door. He didn't think she would appreciate learning that the Council still considered her one of them, almost two decades later. "But several influential members of the Council Board of Directors were impressed with your previous report," he added, before getting in.

She frowned for a moment before stepping back from his car so he could leave.

Looking in his mirror, he could see her still standing there, deep in thought, as he drove away.


	3. Instant Replay

**Word count:** 4,418 (3 of 10)

* * *

Rupert took one last look around the large room. "This'll do. I'll take it," he told the eager young woman from the estate agent.

It was the third house she'd shown him since breakfast. It wasn't that he was too particular about where he lived, but there were certain requirements if he was going to be comfortable.

It needed to be easily defended and set back from the road, with a large private yard in the back. For the wards he preferred to use to be most effective, it had to be constructed from natural wood and local stone. There were only a few older large homes in the outlying areas of Colorado Springs that had met his initial requirements. The rest had been converted into office space or split into smaller apartments years ago.

The only other option would have been to build one, assuming he could do the impossible and convince the Council bean counters to pay for it. But he didn't really expect to be in the area long enough for that. And he certainly didn't want to pay for it himself. He didn't need another house. The estate in Bath he'd inherited from his grandmother would still be there when he retired. That Travers had approved a generous enough stipend to allow some housing flexibility was a minor miracle he wasn't going to argue with.

With himself and two young women sharing a house it needed to be big enough to allow them all some semblance of privacy. Four bedrooms would be plenty he hoped. One for himself, one for the current slayer when she was in town, one for Ms. Dinkley, and a spare for unexpected visitors.

The large study, with enough shelf space for his private collection of rare books had been a major selling point. And there was a space above the garage that could be turned into a training area for the Slayer. The kitchen was big enough to be used for more than making toast and the living room he was standing in was roomy enough for small social events.

The Slayer had never impressed him as being too concerned about her clothes and Ms. Dinkley was a complete mystery, but he'd made sure that two of the bedrooms contained large closets just in case. He'd already staked out the master bedroom and its private bath for himself.

Looking out of the front bay window, all he could see was the cul-de-sac. No other houses were in sight, giving much needed privacy. The nearest neighbor was over a mile away. And the house was far enough from the base that it wasn't in their lap, but not so far away that it couldn't be reached quickly in an emergency.

He'd have to have his furniture from his last semi-permanent home in the States, in Sunnydale, taken out of storage and sent to the house. It wasn't much but it would be better than the bare house. And anything would be better than a hotel room, he thought, pulling out a small pad and starting to put together a list of things the house needed. After his afternoon meeting he would also get a cot.

"Doctor Giles?" the agent asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes?" He turned away from the window.

"When do you want it?"

"Today, if possible," he told her.

"We can fill out the paperwork back at the office," she said, giving him a large smile. "You should be able to take possession late this afternoon."

He must be getting old, he thought, when his only reaction to her excitement was amusement.

* * *

Pausing in the doorway, Rupert looked around the small meeting room. He would be working with these people and their subordinates for the next few months. Or longer if Quentin Travers had his way. The Council Head had been trying to force him out of the field and into a research position away from direct contact with the Slayer for years.

They'd been arguing about the role of the Council in the relationship between watcher and slayer for as long as they'd known each other. Quentin wasn't a cruel leader but he claimed there should be an emotional distance between a slayer and her watcher to protect them both if the other should die.

Rupert suspected there was some element of control at play in that belief. A slayer without such close ties to a watcher was easier for the Council to control. That the current slayer had managed to survive without a permanent watcher seemed to confirm Travers' opinion. But Rupert knew that she'd survived in spite of the best efforts of the Council. She'd told him about some of the impossible missions Travers had sent her on. He was also sure that Travers would use this as an opportunity to lessen any influence they thought he had over her.

He saw no reason to correct their mistaken impression. She might tolerate him enough to work with him on occasion but he'd spent enough time with her over the years to know that she often did things for her own reasons. Frustrating reasons only another slayer would understand. Which brought him back to this meeting.

The borrowed conference room wasn't huge but they were still a small group. The U.S. military was moving quickly to renovate a section of the vast labyrinth of tunnels carved into the mountain deep below their existing NORAD facility, but it would be at least a month before it was completely habitable. Until then they were working in a small secure building on the edge of the Air Force Academy grounds.

In addition to the facilities, the U.S. Air Force had been instrumental in providing a large pool of trained personnel to staff the facility once it was ready for them.

His eyes moving around the room, Rupert mentally reviewed what he knew about each of the people present. He'd had a chance to read the Council's background files on all of them, put together from various sources the night before. The Pentagon had provided heavily edited files for the military members of the team as part of their collaboration with Groupe Seven but while the amount of black ink had been impressive they hadn't given him the insight into them he'd hoped.

The General watched the others with a calm expression on his face. In their earlier meetings General Hammond had displayed a good grasp of the intricacies of the situation. A well respected career officer close to retirement, he'd seemed comfortable with the idea that a large part of his command would be non-military. He hadn't demanded proof of the supernatural when Rupert had explained where Groupe Seven's interest in the Chappa'ai really lay.

Of the people present, only Doctor Carter had a direct connection to the Council. Her Council file had made for interesting, if somewhat intrusive, reading. Leaning back in her chair against the far wall, she wore her uniform like she'd been born in it, her blonde hair now carefully trimmed to what he assumed was regulation length. She certainly didn't look like the angry woman who'd stormed into the General's office just days ago.

Noting the ribbons proudly placed on her uniform, he reminded himself to refer to her by her rank. A respected astrophysicist, at this point she was the only true scientist in the group, a condition that would correct itself at the end of the month when several other scientists from the original Project Giza joined her department.

His sun bleached hair and dark skin a sign of extensive periods spent outdoors, Dr. Daniel Jackson looked ill at ease in the room. Rupert could sympathize. One of the Council's artifact retrieval teams had tracked down the infamous linguist and archeologist deep in the Arabian desert, where he was searching for a fabled library lost in the sand. He hadn't been given much time to adjust to the situation. It had taken a promise of funding from Groupe Seven for a future expedition before he'd agreed to join them in Colorado.

Feeling himself being watched, Rupert turned his attention next to Jack O'Neill, a formerly retired colonel in the U.S. Air Force. General Hammond had convinced the Colonel to come out of retirement. He'd joined the investigation for reasons of his own. If he hadn't seen excerpts from his file, Rupert would have wondered what his role was to be. Even the parts that weren't heavily blacked out read like some pulp novel or John Wayne movie. If they actually managed to reopen the portal, men he selected and trained would go through it. Reading between the lines, Rupert suspected the General expected the Colonel to lead those men.

The project's Chief Medical Officer, another Air Force officer, hadn't arrived yet and wouldn't be joining them for another week. The Council report on her had been exceedingly brief, even compared to the others. There had been a note saying she was aware of the Council but mysteriously no indication of how or why. Rupert wasn't sure what part she would play in the initial investigation but the Council hadn't objected to her inclusion.

Over the next few months, others would join the investigation to flesh out the various departments focusing on the Chappa'ai, but this was the core leadership. Satisfied with his thoughts, Rupert stepped completely into the room. Placing his stack of folders down on the table, he took one of the remaining empty seats.

General Hammond patiently waited for him to be seated before starting the meeting.

"You are all aware of the task before us," he began. "Due to recent events, we have been asked to determine as quickly as possible if there is sufficient reason to continue with the investigation carried out by Captain Carter and her team."

"This is a joint project with Her Majesty's DMN Groupe Seven. They will be providing a portion of our funding and limited oversight. They've also graciously loaned Dr. Giles to this task force for as long his expertise is needed." General Hammond said. "Groupe Seven has also procured Dr. Jackson's services for the duration of the project."

Dr. Jackson nodded, somewhat reluctantly Rupert thought.

"Colonel," the General said. "I believe you are first."

"Yes, sir." He looked around the room, giving all of them a look as if he were trying to see into their souls. "The General has asked me to set up the ring security for this project, in addition to putting together the mission teams."

"Mission teams?" Rupert asked, frowning.

"Infiltration and reconnaissance experts," the Colonel said. "If I understand it correctly, this ring is some kind of doorway to other places."

"We believe so," Rupert told him.

"The evidence currently points in that direction," Captain Carter added.

"If you manage to open it, we will need trained personnel available to assess what is on the other side," the Colonel explained. "Think of it as an outward looking, offensive capability. They'll start to arrive in a month. The first Ring security team, a platoon of Marines, should arrive tomorrow."

"Isn't there already security at the mountain?" Rupert asked. He'd passed along the list of men the Colonel had selected for his teams to the Council but he hadn't seen any mention of an entire platoon of Marines.

"The security up at the mountain is just there to keep out the nosy and the garden variety spy," he said. "While the mission teams are playing offense, Ring security will be made up of personnel specializing in defense."

"Defense?"

"We've already had one person come through your ring without any help from us," he said. "If someone decides to use the ring to invade, we want to be able to stop them before they can get out of the mountain."

"You can't use the same people for both?" Doctor Jackson asked curiously.

"No," O'Neill said, in a tone that allowed for no argument. "The mission teams will be available when needed to support Ring security but that isn't their primary mission."

"Captain?" General Hammond nodded at her. "What can you tell us about the ring?"

"We're not sure what material the ring is made from," she said. "We were unable to take any samples of the material with the instruments we had available. We were able to conduct a few experiments but nothing extensive."

"The Ring was discovered in an abandoned secret Nazi research facility in the Black Forest after the Second World War. The Nazis burned or destroyed everything before they left but they apparently were unsuccessful in destroying the ring itself. It was shipped back to the States along with a number of other artifacts."

"I was researching pre-war Nazi rocket experiments in the German National Library when I came across this picture." She handed out copies.

Looking closely, Rupert saw a picture of three people, a woman, a Nazi officer, and another man standing in front of the ring.

"When I discovered the ring was in a warehouse in Washington I was able to convince my PhD advisor to use his influence to set up a group to study it. We were never able to figure out how to get it to work."

"How did you know what it was supposed to do?" Dr. jackson asked.

"I also found a short film, apparently of the ring in action." She held up a DVD case. "It was very convincing. I brought a copy of it with me. If I may?"

General Hammond nodded.

Putting the DVD in a player in the corner, the Captain dimmed the lights and then stepped over to the screen that came down to cover one wall. "It's only a couple minutes long and the quality is rough," she told them before starting it. "I suspect it is part of a much longer record of the German experiments but this is all that survived."

There was no sound, Rupert noticed with no surprise. The three people in the picture stood several dozen yards back from the ring. Behind them was a large group of soldiers wearing the dreaded SS on their black uniforms. Several had their guns pointed at the three.

There were sparks as several men in white lab coats attached thick cables to the ring. Rupert winced in memory as the inner ring was rotated by several soldiers. Something happened that he couldn't make out and a cloud of steam shot out several yards out of the ring when it stopped turning.

The man and woman were pushed towards the ring. Stopping just in front of it, they engaged in a heated discussion with the Nazi officer. Shaking his head, he pointed at the ring. Stepping back he gestured towards the soldiers behind him. Four stepped forward and forced the woman and man through the ring. A minute after they disappeared there was a large flash and the large pool in the center of the ring disappeared. The officer was still staring at the empty ring when the film ended.

"From this we know that it takes seven symbols out of the thirty nine present to activate it. It's almost like dialing a phone number. Though there was some speculation at the time that it was an address we were unable to figure out the coordinate system being used," Captain Carter told them. "From its recent activation, we also now know that it doesn't require any energy for an incoming connection to be made."

"Comments gentlemen?" General Hammond said once she'd finished.

"It's potentially dangerous when it's running," Colonel O'Neill said. "Notice how they all stay back until it stops moving and that cloud disappears. We'll need to know how much clearance it'll require. We also need to know how to prevent anyone from coming through it."

"Well, now we know what happened to Catherine Langford and Ernest Littlefield," Rupert said.

"You recognized them?" Captain Carter asked.

"Catherine Langford's father headed the expedition that discovered the Chappa'ai," Rupert said. "Ernest Littlefield was a Groupe Seven field researcher."

"So Groupe Seven was involved with the discovery of the ring?" Captain Carter asked. "Not just funding the expedition?"

"Dr. Giles has put together a brief overview of how he came to become involved with the ring," General Hammond said before he could answer her. "Now would be an excellent time to go over it." He nodded at Rupert to begin.

"The ring, or the Chappa'ai as it was known, was discovered by a Groupe Seven sponsored expedition in 1928," Rupert said.

"How did the Nazi's get their hands on it?" O'Neill asked.

"It was one of the things Rommel carried back to Berlin when he left Africa," Rupert said. "Professor Langford was killed trying to prevent them from taking it. His daughter disappeared and was assumed dead. After the war it was moved to Washington where it's been gathering dust ever since. Other than Captain Carter, everyone seemed to have forgotten about it until recently."

"Why did you start researching it now?" Carter asked.

Rupert rubbed his glasses for a moment while he collected his thoughts. Travers had given him permission to tell them some of the psuedo-historical background of Groupe Seven. A background that included nothing about the true purpose of the Council.

"Some of you might not be aware of this, but DMN is the surviving offshoot of an organization that claimed to date back to per-Christianity. There is some evidence that indicates an even older beginning. DMN has archives of the writings of its members that appear to go back several millennia, we believe supporting this claim."

"Assuming that is true," Dr. Jackson said excitedly, "how much older are we talking about?"

"The oldest records in the DMN archives are in Greek," Rupert said, "but they often contain references to even older materials. If you wish to look through them for proof of your theories about the age of the pyramids, Dr. Jackson, we should probably discuss that possibility later."

"Right. Sorry." Dr. Jackson said. "Please continue."

Rupert nodded. "I first ran across references to the Chappa'ai several years ago while translating several old manuscripts that had come into the possession of Groupe Seven at the turn of the last century. And then, several months ago I was reading newly discovered letters in the archives when I came across mention of an ancient legend."

Rupert pulled a sheet of paper from his portfolio. "This is a rough translation," he said, reading several lines. "'If I remember the tale correctly, Alinosa was one with Sineya when she drove the demons of Ra through the Chappa'ai.'"

"Can I see that?" Dr. Jackson asked, taking the sheet from Rupert. "Do you have the complete legend?"

"No, but there is still a lot of material to go through," Rupert told him. "It'll probably take years."

"Gentlemen," Hammond interrupted.

"Sorry," Dr. Jackson said. "What else do we know?"

"While further researching the Chappa'ai', I came across a report from Dr. Langford's original expedition. Unfortunately, most of the records from that and later expeditions disappeared during the war," Rupert said. "All we have left are several early reports."

"What about the Nazis?" O'Neill asked. "They had it for several years. Weren't they obsessed with keeping records of everything they did?"

"As Dr. Carter mentioned earlier, not much is known about the experiments performed on the Chappa'ai by the Nazis during the war. However, it wasn't the Nazis who destroyed the facility."

"It did sound a little too convenient," O'Neill said. "The Nazis left a lot of things behind as they were forced back to Berlin. So, who did cleanup for them?"

"Groupe Seven had a team scouring Europe for Ernest Littlefield at the end of the war. There'd been rumours that he'd survived. There is a brief account of their discovery of the Chappa'ai that mentions they destroyed anything to do with it that they couldn't carry, but the Chappa'ai itself seemed to be indestructible."

"Why would they do that?" Jackson asked.

"Whatever they found they felt was too dangerous to leave behind," Rupert said. Reading between the lines, Rupert suspected they'd found more than just the Chappa'ai. Most likely something related to Nazi research on the slayer, but this group didn't need to know that.

"Is there a list of what they brought back?" Carter asked. "If they destroyed what they couldn't carry then they must have saved something."

"The Groupe Seven archivist is working on that now," Rupert said. "She'll send copies of anything relevant she finds."

"Dr. Jackson?" General Hammond asked, when Rupert had clearly finished.

"I've briefly examined the photographs of the writing on the ring," he said. "It's not any language I recognize."

"What can you tell us?"

"From this?" Jackson waved the photo of Catherine Langford and Ernest Littlefield. "Nothing useful. The two videos of the ring in action were interesting, but provided no useful information on what the symbols mean." He pulled out a drawing of the ring. "If those are coordinates, as Dr. Carter believes, they are in no language I recognize. They don't appear on any artifacts I've seen."

"Would this help?" Rupert asked, sliding two black and white photos across the table. "They were in the Giza expedition file."

"Yes," Jackson said excitedly, looking closely at the photos. "These were found with the ring?"

"Yes. The original tablet seems to have disappeared," Rupert said. "Professor Langford speculated that it was written by whomever buried the Chappa'ai.

"What do we know about the woman who came through it?" O'Neill asked.

"Nothing we can confirm," Rupert told them. "She claims to work for NASA, though they have no record of a Velma Dinkley. She doesn't appear to remember anything about traveling through the Chappa'ai. She claims to have been in an underwater city before going through the ring."

"When can we speak with her?" Carter asked.

"She's currently in hospital, recovering from malnutrition and exhaustion," Rupert said. "A colleague of mine, Ms. Summers, is bringing her to Colorado Springs when she's cleared to travel."

"Do we know if her health was affected by traveling through the ring?" Carter asked.

"That will be one of Dr. Frasier's tasks when she arrives," General Hammond said. "I expect all of you to fully cooperate with her and her staff when she arrives."

"Summers?" O'Neill asked, perking up. "Buffy Summers? Short, dirty blonde hair, with an attitude?"

"Yes."

"Isn't she a bit of a loose canon?" O'Neill asked.

"You've encountered her?" Rupert asked, only marginally surprised with what he knew of the Colonel's history.

"Not directly," he said, with a slight shrug. "It's a small community. You hear stories."

"Who's this Buffy Summers?" Carter asked.

"You've seen the video of the Chappa'ai when it activated in the warehouse." Rupert stated.

"Yes," Carter said.

"She's the fast moving streak that knocked me out of the way when it opened."

"So you owe her," O'Neill said, smirking at some private thought.

"It's not the first time," Rupert said with a shrug. "And probably won't be the last. She's the best active Groupe Seven operative available."

"Is she the..." Carter paused, letting Rupert fill in the blanks.

"Yes." He gave her an intent look but her face had gone blank. He suspected he'd be in for a grilling later from the Captain.

"Is she joining our little party?" O'Neill asked the General.

"There was no one of that name on any personnel lists I've seen," the General told him with a frown.

"She won't be directly involved," Rupert said. "She's too busy with her own responsibilities for Groupe Seven. However, she has been made responsible for Ms. Dinkley so she'll be around. General, I believe you'll find her on the list of Groupe Seven employees requiring access to the project facilities."

"Ah," the General nodded and made a note on his pad.

* * *

Standing in the entrance, O'Neill looked around the bar. On the wall in one corner was a large television showing some sports news show. It was still early and while a few of the tables had occupants, one or two in uniform, it was mostly quiet. Running his eyes along the bar, he spotted a tall blonde who seemed to be absorbed in a glass of beer.

"Captain," he said in greeting, as he sat to her right. "Been in town long?" he asked as he waved the bartender over.

"Colonel O'Neill," she said, looking up from her glass and acknowledging his presence. "Since Monday," she added.

"How'd they drag you into this little adventure?" He asked. He'd been surprised to find her name on the list of potential candidates for his teams. Her file had made for interesting reading but there were some distinct gaps towards the end. Including her reason for quitting the Air Force. "What'd they offer you to come back?"

"Offer sir?" She gave him a puzzled look.

"Huh," he muttered in surprise. "They didn't, did they. Just told you to be here."

"Yes, sir." She said, glaring at him.

He just gave her his friendliest, 'don't mind me' smile. "So you probably didn't volunteer for one of my teams. You do come highly recommended," he added.

She looked back at him in surprise. "One of your teams?"

"Once you get your little gadget working, someone has to test it."

"I'm not qualified, sir." She said, an undertone of bitterness in her voice.

"If you say so," he said. "You seemed to already know about Dr. Giles' Groupe Seven. Have you worked with them in the past?"

"Not officially."

"Unofficially?" he asked.

"I spent several years in Europe with my father after my mother died," she told him. "They have a training facility near one of the bases he was posted to."

He waited for her to say more. When she didn't he sighed and asked the one thing her file hadn't told him that he thought he should know. "Why did you really leave?"

"It was personal. Sir."

"Personal enough to throw away your career?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Gulping down the rest of her beer, Carter dropped several bills on the bar and stood up.

"Carter?" he said, as she turned to leave.

"Yes, sir?"

"Find room in your schedule for a weapons refresher."

"Sir?" She looked at him in surprise.

He just nodded to her in dismissal and turned back to his drink. He could feel her standing there for a minute, staring at his back, before she left.


	4. Connections and Coincidences

**Word count:** 3,619 (4 of 10)

* * *

"Ready to go?" Buffy asked, walking into Velma's room. The older woman was sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing the same clothes she'd had on when she'd come through the ring. They really needed to go shopping, Buffy thought. She rarely had a chance to wear anything except her slaying gear so she normally just window shopped, but Velma was going to be around people who would notice if she wore the same thing every day.

Velma looked up from the small laptop in her hands. Buffy had given it to her the week before. It wasn't anything special, or so she'd been told by the Groupe Seven computer geek she normally went to for help. Velma could use it to do email, write, and surf the Internet once they were away from the hospital and its no wifi for patients policy. It also had several encyclopedias and other information the geek had thought Velma would find interesting, though Buffy had insisted that she include nothing Council or Groupe Seven related.

"Yes," Velma said. Smiling, she closed up the computer and slipped it into a small case. Picking up a small plastic bag and the laptop, she slipped off of the bed. "All set."

"Good," Buffy said. "We'll get something to eat and then head for the airport."

"Any chance at a shopping trip?" Velma asked, tugging at her faded skirt.

"Colorado Springs first," Buffy said. "We should be there right after lunch. Then you can take the company credit card out for a spin. Within reason, of course."

"Of course," Velma answered, allowing Buffy to direct her out of the room.

* * *

The rumbling of the engines and the rustling of air against the metal skin of airplane was having its usual effect on her overly sensitive slayer senses. Normally she would spend the flight meditating to escape but she usually traveled alone. While she didn't expect anything to happen at thirty thousand feet, she wasn't taking any chances with Velma's safety. She'd tried earplugs in the past but the feeling of being wrapped in a cocoon made her too uncomfortable.

Buffy looked over at her companion, sound asleep in the window seat. The doctors had declared her well enough to travel but her ordeal on the other side of the ring still showed in her face. Velma was working on an account of her time in the underwater city but she hadn't shared any of it with her yet. From looking at Velma's medical records, carefully stored in Buffy's carry-on luggage, from what she'd understood Buffy suspected that there was more to her stay there than slowly starving to death.

She'd discovered the hard way, years ago, that knowledge was power. Even if she couldn't remember much of it at the moment, what Velma knew about that city and the ring was valuable information. And Buffy was determined to be the person who controlled access to it and Velma. Once her indignation at being relegated to baby-sitter duty had passed, she'd settled into one of the instinctive roles that came with being a slayer, that of protector.

She hadn't thought too deeply about it but for some unknown reason Velma felt like a part of her tribe. And tribe was like family, to be protected from the wild things out in the dark. It wasn't a feeling she was very familiar with. Sure, she was protective of the Watcher when they traveled together, but doing so didn't give her the same sense of completeness.

For a very brief moment she wondered if she would ever have felt that way about her parents. Something she would never know since she hadn't talked with them since they'd left her to the tender mercies of the state mental health care establishment after Hemery. She hadn't even gone to her mother's funeral though she did occasionally wonder about the daughter mentioned in the obituary some unknown person in the Council had sent her.

* * *

Buffy parked her rental car in front of the garage next to the house the little map gadget in the car said matched the address she'd been given. Reaching over, she gently shook Velma awake.

"We're here," she said to the groggy woman. Getting out of the car, she stretched and tried to shake off the stiffness from the trip before popping open the trunk and grabbing their bags. Striding across the lawn, Buffy joined Velma who'd wandered around to the front of the house.

"This is just for us?" Velma asked, staring up at the large old house, the early afternoon sun shining behind them.

Buffy shrugged. It hadn't been her decision. She'd just asked for a room with a bed and a place to put a few clothes when she was in town and a room for Velma. "You can ask Rupert about it when he gets back. This is the address he gave me."

"Huh," Velma muttered. "How do we get in? It doesn't look like there's a security system but I'm sure your friend wouldn't appreciate it if we broke in."

"He said the key was in an obvious place," Buffy told Velma, looking around the porch. She'd also noticed the lack of a physical security system but could feel a slight tingle that indicated the use of some kind of protection ward, something she wasn't ready to explain to Velma yet. She'd already noticed a tendency for Velma to speak bluntly using confusing scientific terms.

She suspected that the idea of magic and the supernatural wasn't going to go over too well. If she were lucky, the Watcher would be willing to read Velma in to the reality of the Council. It wasn't a task she enjoyed doing. Besides, he worked with science people all the time and knew their language a lot better than she did.

Buffy grabbed her bag and walked up onto the porch. "Come on," she said to Velma, gesturing at her.

"The welcome free mat?" Velma asked, looking down at the mat in front of the door. "It's an obvious place."

"He wouldn't," Buffy said, reaching down and lifting up a corner of the mat. "And he did." She pulled the key loose from the tape holding it to the mat.

"It's called a cliche for a reason," Velma said, making that nasal snorting noise Buffy had noticed her making when something amused her. She hadn't decided yet whether it was geek cute or annoying.

"If you say so," Buffy said, shaking her head. If the wards were what she thought they were, the key wouldn't have worked for anyone else anyway, but that wasn't the point.

"People rarely think," Velma said, following her into the foyer. "Even Fred eventually figured out all the places people hide their keys. Under the Welcome mat, under a plant, under a brick or statue. That kind of easy to remember place." She snorted again before pausing to look around. "Bare walls, no furniture?"

"He said it was unfurnished. Wasn't expecting it to be literally true," Buffy said, poking her head into a large room to the left and filing the new name away to ask Velma about later. "He's had the house for a whole week. He couldn't buy a couch? Or a couple chairs?" She watched Velma wander down the hall to a door at the end, past the main stairway going up.

"It has a large kitchen," Velma told her, opening the door and looking in.

"Do you cook?" Buffy asked, joining her.

"Daphne always did the cooking," Velma told her. "Only Scoobie can eat the things Shaggy cooks. I do frozen or things in cans. Fred just eats."

"I do cans also," Buffy said, not surprised to hear a slight tone of sadness in Velma's voice when talking about the people she'd mentioned the most over the past few weeks. "When I'm not doing room service or ordering out. I'm usually not anywhere long enough to stock a freezer."

"So, your friend's a cook?"

"Possibly. I've never lived with him before."

"Ah..." Velma pointed at a note taped to the refrigerator door. "This looks like it's for you."

Taking it off the refrigerator, Buffy opened the note. "Okay. There are two bedrooms he feels are suitable for us," she told Velma. "There's also a guest room and a master bedroom. He says that one is his. Pick whichever one you like and I'll take the other."

"Okay."

"As soon as you do that, you have an appointment with the doctor," Buffy said.

"Doctor?"

"Yes," Buffy said. "Remember that I said my friend, who also works for Groupe Seven, is working with the team examining the ring you came through?"

"And if I play nicely and follow all of their rules they might let me look at the ring?" Velma said.

"That's not how I'd put it but yes, more or less." Buffy said.

"Buffy, I work at NASA and I've spent time solving cases involving politicians. I think I have some understanding of how bureaucrats and politicians think," Velma told her. "If I don't help them, they won't help me get home."

"Right." Buffy pointed back towards the stairs. "Go pick out your room. As soon as you finish with the doctor we'll be able to go to the mall and do the shopping you need."

* * *

"What do you think of her?" Buffy asked him after Velma had followed the nurse to an examination room. She'd been surprised to find him leaving the temporary infirmary but had welcomed the opportunity to finally introduce Velma to the Watcher they would be living with.

"Very intelligent seeming," Rupert said. "You had no problem finding the house?"

"Modern technology," Buffy told him. "We just followed the voice. But Rupert?"

"Yes?"

"There's no real furniture. I don't mind the cot, I've slept on worse, but what about Velma? You can't expect her to sleep on one after all she's been through."

"No, the bedroom furniture should be delivered tomorrow," he told her.

"Good." Buffy sighed. "How long is this going to take? I need to take her shopping. She doesn't have any clothes."

"Ms. Dinkley? Not long, she just got out of hospital," he told her. "You? No idea."

"Me?" Buffy squeaked. "Since when do I have an appointment with a non-Council doctor?"

"Doctor Fraiser insisted," Rupert told her sheepishly. "She wouldn't give me a pass until I agreed you'd let her examine you."

"But why me?" Buffy asked, fidgeting in her seat.

Rupert patted her shoulder sympathetically. "Apparently Doctor Fraiser is examining everyone who has been in contact with the Chappa'ai."

"I didn't touch it." she protested. It wasn't that she was afraid of doctors, no. But doctors were only for when you'd been sick and she was in good shape, for a slayer of her years, Buffy thought to herself. "You did, and Velma came through it but I never got within 10 feet of the thing."

Rupert raised an eyebrow at her rambling comment. "That isn't the point. No one involved in this project is exempt from regular physicals."

"Um, I'm here because Quentin volunteered me to keep an eye on Velma. What does that have to do with your Chappy ring?"

"You've been spending time with Ms. Dinkley," Rupert said.

"Velma. Her name is Velma," Buffy said, giving him a firm look.

"Velma, yes." Rupert said. "What do you think Velma is going to do while she's here?"

"Involve herself," Buffy said. "She wants to go home."

"Correct. And where Velma goes?"

"Me too." Buffy grumbled.

"Just be glad you already have a job that you can't put on hold," Rupert told her.

"Job? Oh, you mean my destiny?" Buffy said. "Are there slayer years? Like dog years? Cause I think I'm positively ancient in slayer years. Why should I be glad?"

"Your reputation precedes you," Rupert told her. "There's a colonel here who would love to get his hands on you for his part of the project."

"O'Neill?" Buffy asked.

"Yes. You know about him?"

"Only what's in his file. Typical Special Forces." Buffy shrugged. "They tend to get grabby. I can have a chat with him if you need me to but I don't think Quentin is going to want me neglecting Council business to play with the Colonel."

"He knows your time is already spoken for," Rupert told her. "If we could speak before you head out tonight?"

"Sure. Some time after Velma goes to bed would be best," Buffy said.

"Good. Will you be back from your shopping trip in time for dinner at the house?"

"Not if you're expecting either of us to cook," Buffy told him with a grimace. "Neither of us does domestic."

* * *

She repeated her question to the Doctor after being examined.

"The ring is made of an unknown material and exhibits unexplained effects on its environment." She told Buffy. "We're recording baseline health information for everyone involved in this project."

"I'm not involved with the project," Buffy protested. "I'm just Velma's friendly neighborhood bodyguard guardian personage."

"You are a special case," the Doctor admitted. "However, if you aren't involved now you will be. Besides, it's possible we would have met eventually. Cousin Quentin has been dodging my requests to examine a slayer for years. But he would have given in eventually."

"Cousin Quentin?" Buffy stared at the Doctor in surprise. "You're related to that annoying bastard?" Only her lack of clothes prevented her from storming out of the newly painted infirmary.

"A distant relative," the Doctor said, acting as if Buffy hadn't just insulted Travers. "He still isn't happy I refused to work for the Council after medical school and joined the Air Force instead."

"I would have done the same thing if given a choice." Buffy told her.

"Okay, we're done for now," the Doctor told her. "I've requested your medical records from Groupe Seven but they haven't arrived yet. As soon as I have a chance to go through them, I'll want to see you again."

"Good luck with that," Buffy muttered, hopping of the table and grabbing her clothes. She suspected her records would fill several large filing cabinets.

"So, Doc, how did Velma do on your little exam?" Buffy asked, stepping behind the curtain and quickly getting dressed.

"Unless you're her legal guardian, that's privileged information," Doctor Fraiser said, after Buffy rejoined her.

"I've got permission," Buffy said with a smirk. "Legal even. I'm her emergency contact and everything. So, how'd she do?" she asked again.

"You do?" the Doctor frowned at her. Opening the door to the examination room, she stepped into the hall. "Let's take this to my office." She turned to the nurse. "Lieutenant? Please bring Ms. Dinkley to my office."

* * *

"So, ready to go shopping?" Buffy asked Velma when she joined them in Doctor Fraiser's office.

"Yes." Velma looked at the doctor. "What's wrong?"

"Your file says that Buffy has permission to access any and all medical information about you. But no one else can without her permission?"

"That's possible," Velma said, sitting down in the chair next to Buffy.

"It's a little unusual in this situation," Doctor Fraiser said. "You do understand that my superiors are going to want regular reports on your health."

"Of course," Velma murmured. "I don't see any problem there."

"Don't worry about it," Buffy told Doctor Fraiser. "We felt it would be better if there was only one copy of Velma's medical records floating around. There's the copy you now have and the original will be in the Groupe Seven personnel office in London. Just like the medical records for anyone else who works for Groupe Seven. It really shouldn't be a surprise."

"So you're a Groupe Seven employee?" Doctor Fraiser asked Velma. "I wasn't told that."

"Employee? I'm not sure that is the correct term." Velma said, looking at Buffy for help. "Member?"

"She's considered a member of Groupe Seven, yes." Buffy said, giving the doctor an intent look. "Unpaid, but we pay all of her expenses. The lawyers thought it was in her best interest for us to be responsible for her."

"And Quentin had nothing to do with it?"

"Well.." Buffy shrugged. "You know how that goes."

"Yes," Doctor Fraiser said, shaking her head.

"Who's Quentin?" Velma asked, puzzled.

"Quentin Travers is the head of Groupe Seven's Board of Directors," Doctor Fraiser said. "Your friend here reports directly to him."

"He gets the occasional report. When necessary." Buffy said with a smirk. "He does control the Groupe Seven accountants so getting him angry is not a good thing."

"Is he expecting to be informed of Velma's progress?" the doctor asked.

"You should know what he expects better than I do," Buffy told her. "Whatever you need to send to Groupe Seven in London about myself and Rupert Giles applies to Velma also."

"Understood," Doctor Fraiser said. "Ladies, I'm done for now. We'll contact you when we need to see you again. Which should be up at the Mountain. The infirmary there should be completed by the end of this week."

"Thanks, Doctor Fraiser," Velma said, giving her a small smile before following Buffy out.

* * *

"That's an interesting tattoo," Dr. Fraiser said, making a note in the Captain's file.

Carter shrugged. It'd been a long time since she'd thought about it, and the reason she'd gotten it in the first place was no longer valid.

"I've heard about them but never expected to see one," she said, leaning against the counter as she gazed thoughtfully at Carter.

"You know what it means?" Carter asked in surprise.

"You're not the only person here with experience with the Council," she told her.

"You're one of them?" Carter looked around for her clothes, feeling the sudden need to get out of the room. It was bad enough there was going to be a slayer wandering around. Her she could avoid. Avoiding the CMO for the project was another matter entirely

"No," Dr. Fraiser said calmly. "I prefer to have a little more freedom than the Council allows. You're not the first person to have that reaction today. Maybe it's the hair?"

"Hair?" Confused, Carter looked at her.

"Nothing." Dr. Fraiser gave her a quirky smile. "You're free to go," she said. "For now."

* * *

There was a knock at his door. Jack looked up from the folder on his desk. "Come in," he said.

"Captain Miller reporting as requested, Sir."

"Have a seat, Miller." He looked at the Marine curiously. "The Initiative was an NID project?"

"Yes, sir."

"They seem to like grandiose names for their projects." Jack looked back down at the folder. "Rangers out of high school and then ROTC?"

"Yes."

"How'd you end up involved in an NID project that had 95% casualties?" Jack noticed a slight tick on Miller's face at the question. He wondered how many of Miller's friends had survived what was rumored to be the biggest cluster-fuck in NID history, one that branch of the NID had yet to really recover from.

"Just unlucky. Sir."

"So, you transfered to the Marines after the Initiative? Must have come as a huge culture shock."

"Yes, sir." Miller shrugged noncommittally. "More time at sea. Navy food. Shore leave in exotic places."

"So, how are your men settling in? No problems with the small spaces up at the Mountain?" Jack asked. "Has all of your equipment arrived?"

"It's like being on a ship, sir. Without the weather." Miller told him. "There are a few things still in transit but they aren't critical at this stage."

"Good, good," Jack looked at another pile of folders on his desk. He knew there was something he was forgetting. "Ah, there it is." He pulled another folder out of the pile.

"Sir?"

Jack opened the folder and read the note taped to the inside cover. "Doctor Fraiser seems to have issues with your Corpsman using her infirmary. Any idea what's going on?"

"The Doc can be a bit possessive of her Marines, sir. Doctor Fraiser probably just misunderstood something she said."

"Well, tell her to make nice with Captain Fraiser. She can be replaced, Fraiser can't." Jack looked down at the Corpsman's service record, wondering why the name looked so familiar. "When did Marine Recon platoons start taking female corpsmen with them into the field?"

"If you've looked at her records, you know she's fully qualified. Sir." Miller told him, not refuting his comment.

"Huh." Jack flipped through several pages, noticing a commendation that was normally only awarded to combat troops. He wondered what the real story was. No matter how qualified this corpsman was, the Marines weren't likely to intentionally send her into a combat zone. "If this is accurate I'm surprised you've managed to hang onto her. Send her to college and all sorts of three letter agencies'll drool all over themselves to get her."

"She prefers working with Marines. Sir," Miller said, a mug look on his face.

"Ah.." Jack shook his head. He couldn't see the attraction himself. Marines seemed a bit intense for his taste. "Enough of that. Just tell her to see Doctor Fraiser." He closed the file. "The candidates for the mission teams should start arriving in two weeks. You'll need to have everything ready before then. Let me know if there are any problems."

"Yes, sir."

"And Captain?" Jack shuffled the papers in Miller's folder for a moment.

"Yes, sir?"

"We both know the NID never completely lets anyone go."

"Sir?" Miller stood up.

"I don't want any surprises from that quarter. I'll need copies of anything you send them." Jack said firmly. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Miller saluted, turned around and left his office.

* * *

**Chapter End Note:** What's the tatoo mean? Ancient slayer secret! But Carter should really tell Buffy about it.


	5. Training Day

**Words:** 3,800 (5 of 10)

* * *

"Are you going to be here tomorrow?" Velma asked, looked up at her owlishly from her cot in the bare bedroom.

"Unless there's an emergency somewhere they need me to deal with," Buffy told her. "Are you going to be alright like this? We can always go find a hotel with real beds."

"It's only for one night," Velma said. "Besides, the city had hard floors. This is heavenly."

"Okay," Buffy said, reaching down to squeezed her hand, resisting the sudden impulse to tuck her in. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Buffy," she said, pulling her blanket up to her chin.

"Night." Stopping at the door, Buffy turned off the light before stepping out into the hall, gently closing the door behind her.

Going back to her own room, Buffy pulled her favorite slaying outfit out of her suitcase. Quickly stripping off her travel clothes, Buffy started putting it on, one piece of reinforced leather and kevlar at a time. Early in her career, a slaying outfit had been whatever she was wearing at the time. She'd gone through a lot of clothes that way. When she'd started traveling, leather had been the most durable thing she could wear.

Seeing what modern materials could do when worn by the military units she increasingly worked with, and after one too many close calls, she'd found someone to design clothes for her that looked like her favorite leather and denim outfits. They provided better protection from the claws and teeth of most of the demons she ran into and lasted much longer.

Colorado Springs wasn't known for its demonic nightlife but she needed to burn off some energy and putting it to use exploring the neighborhood seemed like a good idea. And if she did run into something unexpected, she wanted all of the advantages she could get.

* * *

"Are you going to tell her the truth about Groupe Seven?" Rupert asked, having joined her out on the porch. He'd watched her loosening up before patrol almost as long as he'd known her. Even in his more introspective moments, he wasn't sure if he knew what the attraction was, but she'd never objected to his presence.

"I was hoping you could do that?" Buffy said. "I think she'll take it better from you. You understand the science type, like her, better than I do."

Rupert nodded, not completely surprised. Over the years, he'd noticed that she preferred to be the silent partner in their relationship. "Before you head out I have something to show you," he said nervously.

"Where?" she asked, flipping to her feet in a move that made his joints ache.

"The garage," he said, stepping off of the porch. The Slayer joined him as he headed to the garage's side door. Unlocking it, he reached in and flipped on the light.

"It's big," Buffy said, her voice echoing in the large space.

"If you want to use it for your own vehicle there's plenty of room," Rupert told her, waving at the empty space next to his car.

"I should return that rental before the accountants start whinging," she said, frowning. "I still have that truck we used in Vancouver in storage. I'm sure there's someone who can drive it down here for me. Just needs local registration."

"You kept that?" Rupert looked at her in surprise. She'd been extremely vocal about the black Rover with tinted windows being too obvious at the time, making it hard for her to keep a low profile.

"I keep a lot of the things I get from the Council," Buffy told him. "You never know when Travers will get stingy with the fundage. I just have to keep it in Council storage since I don't have a permanent residence."

"Oh, I see," Rupert said, nodding. He wondered once more what had happened to change the flighty Californian teenager described in her early Council records into someone who thought long term. "Very practical."

"That's me," Buffy said, with a slightly mocking tone that made Rupert wince. "The Practical Slayer. So what was so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"There's a large loft up above. The door is over there," Rupert told her, pointing towards the back. "I thought you could make use of it for a training room."

"I'd planned on using the basement," Buffy said, "But options are nice."

"It has a separate lock," he said, pulling out his keys. "It's the key on your key ring with the orange label." Unlocking the door, he led the way up the flight of stairs. Reaching the top, he stepped to the side to give her an uninterrupted view of the space. He was rather proud of what he'd had done to it in the week since he'd moved in.

"Wow! This is so much better than the basement," Buffy said, looking around the large room. "Though those large windows don't provide much privacy."

"They're tinted," he told her, glad he'd anticipated her. "No one can see through them out past the fence."

"Cool," she said, wandering around the room. "It's like the perfect training room," she told him, waving at the mirrored wall, punching bag hanging in one corner, gymnastic equipment, and floor mats stacked in another corner. "All it needs is a radio and a shower for after."

"There's a small shower and locker room through that door," he told her pointing at a door in the far wall next to a small kitchenette. "Also," he said, stepping to the right. Reaching up, he pressed on a hidden latch. The wall split open, revealing a large vertical weapons storage cabinet, several of the mounts already containing weapons.

"Ooh... shiny. Are these yours?" Buffy asked, lightly running a finger along the edge of a long knife.

"Yes. There should be plenty of room here for your training weapons," he said.

"And then some. How did you open it?" She looked at the doors to the cabinet. "I didn't even see it until you did that."

"There's a pressure switch at the bottom," he told her.

"So anyone can just come in and take something?"

"No, the entire building is warded, just like the house," he said.

"I've been meaning to talk with you about that," Buffy said. "Velma noticed the lack of a security system. Yes, I know you don't think we need one with all of the wards you have in place, but she doesn't know about them yet."

"They should keep out anything that doesn't belong," he told her.

"Anything sensitive to magic," she said. "But anyone or anything that is magic free is going to be able to walk right past them once they get through the locks."

"Yes, but there is no such thing as a magic free demon," Rupert said. "Even most humans have some magical presence."

"No buts," Buffy told him, in that tone of voice that always reminded him that she was still the Slayer. While she might be half his age, only Quentin Travers could successfully argue with her. And that had more to do with his position as the head of the Council than the man himself. "Who knows what else is going to come through that ring of yours. And besides, Velma will feel a lot better in a house protected by a security system she can actually see and control."

"And who do you recommend install it?" Rupert asked, with a rare touch of condescension.

"Beats me. You're the big brain around here," Buffy said, shrugging and continuing to explore the room. "I really like it up here," she told him, poking the practice dummy sitting in a corner. "Definitely much better than the basement."

"Thanks," he said, her bright smile bringing one to his own face.

"O'Neill!" she blurted out, jumping up on the pommel horse.

"O'Neill what?" Rupert asked.

"I bet he knows all about security systems," Buffy said, "Isn't that part of his job? And if he doesn't he has all sorts of people who work for him. I'm sure one of them knows how to set up a security system."

"I'll talk with him this morning," Rupert said.

"Great!" Buffy said before pushing herself up into a handstand on the pommel horse.

* * *

"Good morning," Velma said, the smell of bacon drawing her into the kitchen.

"You're up early, my dear," Rupert said, looking over at her from his position in front of the stove. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Coffee? And that bacon smells wonderful," she said, spying a coffee maker.

Nodding, he reached over and opened the cupboard above it. "The coffee and filters are here. If you or Buffy prefer a different kind of coffee let me know."

Velma nodded, grabbing the coffee pot. "I'll ask her. Where is she?"

"She's in the training room," he said.

"Training room?" She couldn't remember anything resembling what she thought of as a training room when he'd shown them around the house the night before.

"It's above the garage," he said, sitting down after placing a plate of bacon, a bowl of scrambled eggs, and toast in the center of the kitchen table. "Help yourself."

"Thanks," Velma said, sitting down across from him.

* * *

Her senses operating at the high level that seemed to occur only in near death experiences and when she'd reached the end of an intense training session, Buffy sensed Velma's hesitant steps on the stairs long before she spoke.

"Jinkies," Velma exclaimed, her voice bouncing off the walls. "That's amazing."

Buffy continued for several minutes, moving from the offensive moves she preferred to the more sedate Tai'Chi movements she used to cool off with.

"What's up?" she asked, keeping her expression as neutral as she could in the face of Velma's preferred clothing color scheme. Somehow, during their shopping expedition the previous day, she'd managed to pick out clothes in various shades of orange and red. Considering what Velma had been wearing when they met, Buffy was just thankful that neon orange was not a common color.

"You move like someone in a kung-fu movie," Velma said, gazing around the room. "Daphne can do some really fancy moves herself, but I don't think she's even close to that level."

Buffy just shrugged. She didn't think there was anything special about her abilities. They were just part of being the Slayer. Training helped give her better control of the fighting skills all slayers had, and better control meant living longer.

"Rupert said you were some kind of mystical warrior," Velma said, standing in front of her. "If everything else he said is true, I can see why you can move like that."

"Most of those fancy moves are only useful when I'm training," Buffy said dismissively. "Speed and strength are more important for survival than finesse in the field."

"Oh," Velma mumbled. "I still think the way you were moving was amazing."

"I've never had a groupie before," Buffy said teasingly.

"Sorry," Velma said, blushing.

"So, you believe what Rupert told you?"

"He seems to believe it," Velma said. "And he leant me several books. Watching you do that stuff helped..." her voice trailed off.

"But you still aren't sure?" Buffy asked, not too surprised.

"Rocket scientist," Velma reminded her, pointing at herself. "And, back when I was a detective, we'd occasionally run into criminals who wore costumes and used supernatural fakery to hide their crimes. So, yes, I need real proof."

"Not a problem," Buffy said. "Didn't believe it myself at first. I'm sure we can find you the proof you need at some point."

"Okay," Velma said. "What are your plans for the rest of the morning?"

"I'm expecting some new toys to arrive today," Buffy said, grabbing her water bottle.

"Toys?"

"Toys," Buffy repeated, after taking a drink. "And we might get a visit from someone from the Mountain to take a look at our security system for the house. Other than that, just some more light training. I'm taking it easy today."

"Internet?" Velma asked hopefully.

"Rupert says it was installed last week," Buffy said. "I'm not a tech person so - No idea how to get to it if it isn't wireless."

"Okay," Velma said, nodding. "I can figure it out."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Graham asked, standing in Colonel O'Neill's office doorway.

"You've met Dr. Giles?" O'Neill asked him.

"Yes, sir," Graham said, stepping completely in. He didn't add that Dr. Giles seemed to know more than he should about his past.

"Good." Standing up he shoved a few things into a pocket and grabbed his cover. "Let's go."

"Sir?" Graham asked, falling into step next to him.

"We have a house to see," he said cryptically.

* * *

"Sir? Is there anything I should know about this house?" Graham asked finally, as they pulled up in front of a garage next to a large, solidly built house. Colonel O'Neill had been quiet for the thirty minute trip down from the mountain.

"Dr. Giles' house," O'Neill told him, pointing at the house before getting out of his truck. "No real security system." He waved at the house and garage. Pointing at Graham he said, "security expert."

"Does he just want an opinion or for us to set one up for him," Graham asked, joining him in the driveway.

"Treat it like it's an off-base facility that your team is responsible for. Assume that it needs the works," O'Neill told him, "when you write up your report for me tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Graham said, pulling out the small computer he carried everywhere. It'd started life out as an experimental hardened iPhone. It was one of a number his platoon had field tested during their last assignment, at the request of some unnamed Californian senator. The hardware had survived. The original custom software had proved so buggy and unreliable that the field test had been canceled. Sparky had been able to fix the most glaring issues and was slowly turning them into useful tools.

"Does it play games?" O'Neill asked curiously.

"No sir," Graham said, after running a basic RF scan of the area and sending it and a deep scan request off to Sparky.

"Come along then," O'Neill said.

* * *

"Ms. Dinkley," a voice said. Looking up from her laptop, Velma looked towards the fence that separated the back yard from the garage. A vaguely familiar older man stood next to another one, both dressed in fatigues.

"Yes?" she said, joining them at the fence.

"Captain Miller and I need to speak with Miss Summers," the older man said.

"Okay," Velma said. Leaving them, she hurried over to the far end of the yard, where Buffy had set up a few targets and was testing her new toys.

"What does O'Neill want?" Buffy asked.

"Who?"

"O'Neill? The old guy?"

"Oh," Velma said. "He didn't introduce himself. He wants to talk with you."

"Okay," Buffy told her. "Give me a couple minutes to clean up here. Wouldn't want him to think he's really special by rushing right over."

"Is he?" Velma asked, curious. "Special?"

Buffy's shrug wasn't very helpful, Velma decided, as she headed back to the two men. "She'll be over as soon as she finishes," Velma said.

"What's she doing?" he asked.

"Testing some new equipment," Velma said. "I think. They came this morning."

"Dart guns?" O'Neill frowned.

"I can think of a few things those would be useful for," Graham said quietly.

* * *

Ignoring her audience, Buffy removed the magazine from the dart gun and ejected the round in the chamber. Disassembling the gun, she put it away in its case before joining them at the fence.

"Summers."

"O'Neill," Buffy said with the same tone.

"Interesting device," he said. "Darts?"

"It's experimental," Buffy said. "I'm testing it for a friend."

"Ah," O'Neill said. "Captain Miller here is going to take a look at your security system," he added, "and then we'll get you all fixed up."

"Miller?" Buffy gazed at him intently. She'd seen his records because of his Sunnydale connection but never expected to meet him.

"Ma'am," Miller said.

"He's in charge of the security teams for our little chunk of the mountain," O'Neill said.

"What do you need to see?" Buffy asked.

"The physical layout," he said. "Where utilities come into the house. Anything you have set up already."

"How long will it take?" she asked.

"An hour or so," Miller said.

"You have all afternoon," O'Neill told him, "but I have to head back up to the mountain for a meeting."

"Yes, sir," Miller said.

"Ladies," O'Neill said, nodding at them before heading back to his car.

He didn't seem surprised at being abandoned by O'Neill, Buffy thought.

"Are you going to need a ride back?" she asked once O'Neill had driven off.

"No, ma'am," Miller said. "That won't be a problem."

* * *

"So, what do you think?" Buffy asked an hour later, when he finished arranging for a ride back to the mountain. She'd gone back to tinkering with her new toys while he explored the house and grounds with Velma in tow. That he'd been very patient with Velma's geeky questions had been a welcome surprise. She might have to revise her opinion of him.

"It's not a castle but securing it won't take much effort," he said. "But do you really need it? Someone seems to have heavily warded it."

"You noticed?" Buffy asked.

"Warded?" Velma asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Miller said. "I recognized the signs."

"Something you learned in Sunnydale?" Buffy asked. There'd been nothing in the reports she'd seen about the Initiative having any trained magic users on staff. They'd been overloaded with scientists and soldiers. But no witches or shamen.

"You know about Sunnydale?" Miller asked, clearly surprised.

"Been there, have the souvenirs," Buffy said, rubbing the scar on her throat for emphasis. He didn't need to know that she and Rupert had been briefed on the Initiative because of his presence at the Mountain.

"What's Sunnydale?" Velma asked.

"A boring story," Buffy said. "Involving all of those things you don't quite believe yet."

"Captain Miller's ride won't be here for a little while," Velma said, her expression hopeful.

Buffy sighed. "Okay, as long as the Captain explains where he learned how to detect that a building's been warded. I don't think that's something they teach officers in the Marines."

"You first," Miller said, winking at Velma.

Buffy sat down on the top step. "How much do you know about Groupe Seven?" she asked him.

"Nothing much," he said, puzzled. "Scuttlebutt has it that you're some super secret British organization funding the project up at the mountain."

"That's reasonably accurate for a rumor," Buffy said. "We are British. Some more than others. And we are involved in the project, though mostly in an oversight kind of way. But that isn't what we're really about."

"Which is?"

"Something like your project in Sunnydale but we've been doing it a lot longer, without the mad scientist bit," Buffy said. "By centuries."

"Oh," Miller said. "So, Sunnydale?"

"Well, I'm not sure you are aware of this, but there is a portal, a hellmouth, in Sunnydale. No, nothing like the ring," she said, looking at Velma. "It is literally a portal to Hell, or someplace like it, and during its' active phases it attracts the more ambitious evil. They seem to think they can control it.

Back then, Groupe Seven tried to have an observer or two on all such mystical hotspots. I was in Cleveland, another inactive hellmouth, at the time. Rupert was in Sunnydale keeping an eye on things. He'd been asking for real help for a long time. There was a particularly nasty vampire that had been terrorizing the town for years. Called himself 'The Master'." Buffy wiggled her fingers in vague 'air quote' fashion. Velma snorted when Buffy winked at her.

"When someone finally listened to Rupert and let me know, I headed there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the vampire was quite a bit more powerful that I was told. It'd managed to open the Hellmouth long enough to take over the town. My first encounter wasn't very successful." She gestured at the scars on her neck. "Once I'd recovered, Rupert and I took care of it. Which is a story for another time," she said.

"Apparently, a couple years later, someone noticed all of the different kinds of creatures attracted to Sunnydale and decided to set up shop there," she added.

"The Initiative," Miller said.

"Yup," Buffy said. "It didn't end well, from what I've heard."

"No," Miller said, grimacing. "It was a follow-up to an earlier program run during the Cold War. We were there to study ways to control HSTs, but the head of the project had her own plans."

"HSTs?" Velma asked.

"Hostile Sub-Terrestrials," Miller said.

"We call them demons," Buffy told her. "Vampires, that kind of thing."

"We suffered ninety percent casualties," he said, leaning against the banister.

"What happened?"

"It's classified," Miller said.

Buffy shook her head, not seeing the point of keeping that disaster a secret. "The head of the program built her own Frankenstein," she said. "Demon, human, and machine parts. And it blew up in her face. She shouldn't have mixed science and demonic magic. Bad things can happen."

"That's one way to put it," he said, sighing. "They debriefed us at a base outside New Orleans. And then we sat around for 4 months while they decided what to do with us."

"You seem to be doing well," Buffy said.

"I'm a soldier. It runs in the family. The Marines were willing to give me a chance when the Army wanted to pretend the Initiative never happened," Miller said.

"So, how'd you recognize the wards?" she asked.

"My platoon medic is Wiccan," he said. "She's paranoid about certain things. She insists on warding her quarters. I was curious so she leant me a book on the subject. Not sure if it works but if it keeps her happy..."

"You don't have a problem with something like that?" Velma asked, giving him a piercing look. "Magic?"

"She's earned it," he said, but didn't elaborate.

* * *

Hearing the distinct sound of an approaching Humvee, Graham stood up.

"What happens next?" Velma asked, looking up at him from the bottom step.

"I'll give my recommendation to Colonel O'Neill and he'll discuss it with Dr. Giles. I'd prefer that my specialists set up the system but it'll be up to them," he told her. "Have a good evening, ladies."

Nodding at them, Graham walked over and climbed into the idling Humvee. "Something wrong Doc?" he asked, noticing how pale she looked, watching the two women walk into the house.

"Uh, no sir," she said, pulling herself together. "Just thought I saw a ghost."

* * *

**End Notes:** _**Welcome to the middle of the fic!**_

Important Note: The 2nd half of this fic is currently under construction but it will be a number of months before I start posting the remain chapters (probably not before Christmas, 2010). Your patience until then is appreciated.


End file.
